“What about her, Sal?” Tozzi stopped walking.
“Keep moving!”
Stacy groaned as Sal twisted her arm.
“Just keep going, Tozzi. You hear me? I’m not fooling around.”
Hands in the air, Tozzi stepped back a little quicker to placate Sal. “Take it easy, Sal. I’m going, I’m—”
Tozzi’s heart jumped as he bumped into something. He looked over his shoulder. It was Mistretta’s casket in the middle of the aisle. He shoved it to the side with his hip to make room, banging it against a wooden pew. The collision boomed through the church like a bomb going off.
Tozzi’s heart was pounding as he backed around the casket. There were too many goddamn variables here. Sal was fucked—there was no way he was gonna get out of here alive. These people were not about to let him live, not after what Emerick said about him. If Tozzi had some backups here, at least Gibbons, maybe—just maybe—they could apprehend Sal and cool things down. But Tozzi was all alone here, and Sal was focused on him, which meant he wasn’t focused on that one wiseguy in the crowd who was gonna start the shooting. Sal was a dead man, he was history, that was definite. But what about Stacy? How was he gonna save her? Sal wasn’t the issue anymore. Stacy was. Just Stacy. Tozzi could forget about taking Sal in and having him prosecuted. He could forget about testifying against Sal, assuring the court that the guy was really sane and that he always had been. He could forget about…
Something suddenly occurred to Tozzi. Everyone in this place knows Sal’s fucked, except Sal. He still thinks he’s got a chance. He thinks he can make it out of here. He’s got hope. And if he’s got hope, Tozzi’s got something he’s gonna want.
“Hey, Sal. Hold it a minute.”
“Screw you, Tozzi. Just keep walking.”
“No, wait. I got something for you. No tricks. I swear to God. It’s under my shirt. Okay? I wanna get it for you.”
“Don’t fuck around, Tozzi. I’ll kill her. I swear I will.”
“I’m just gonna take off my jacket and put it down right here. Okay?” Tozzi started taking it off as he asked for permission.
“Don’t get wise, Tozzi. I’ll make you sorry for the rest of your fucking life.”
“I’m gonna unbutton my shirt now.” Tozzi loosened his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. He tossed the tie aside and opened his shirtfront. “Can you see what I got?”
He ripped the tape off the wire on his chest, wincing against the sting. He pulled off the strips of tape on his side. “See what it is, Sal?” He took off his shirt and let it drop to the floor, turning to the side so that Sal could see the Nagra tape recorder on his back. “You see what it is, Sal? A tape recorder. It’s all on tape, Sal. You talking just now. Loud and clear, you talking natural. It proves you’re not nuts.”
“You little fuck. I’m gonna—”
“I’ll make you a trade, Sal.” Tozzi ripped the strips of tape off his back and held the tape recorder over his head. “Stacy for the tape recorder. An even trade. The girl for the tape recorder.” He shivered, bare-chested in the cold, damp church.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tozzi spotted a statue of St. Sebastian on the side altar. The saint was wearing nothing but a dirty loincloth with about a million arrows sticking out of him. St. Sebastian, the martyr. Tozzi’s throat ached.
“So whattaya say, Sal? I give you the tape recorder, you let her go.”
Sal didn’t answer. He was thinking about it.
“C’mon, Sal, whattaya say? It’s the only hard evidence we’ve got that proves you’re not insane. It’s the only recording in existence of you talking normal, carrying on a real conversation. Without it, we can’t put you away. We wouldn’t be able to touch you.”
“That’s bullshit, Tozzi. You can testify against me. Whattaya think I am, stupid?”
“Yeah, but I won’t testify. I promise you. If you don’t hurt her, I won’t testify.”
“You’re fulla shit.”
“No, for real. Let her go and I will not testify against you.” Tozzi swallowed hard. “I swear to Christ I won’t.”
“You’re bad, Tozzi. Shouldn’t swear like that in church when you don’t mean it.”
“I do mean it. I’m telling you. Let her go and I won’t testify.”
“Why?”
“Because I love her. I want to marry her.” Tozzi’s heart was thumping like crazy.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. Now, c’mon. Take the damn tape recorder. Here.” He set the Nagra down on top of Mistretta’s casket and stepped back, showing Sal his empty palms. “Take it, Sal. It’s your ticket to freedom. Take the tape recorder, let her go, and just get outta here.”
Sal inched forward, pushing Stacy with him. His face was a tight fist, eyes burning. “If this is a trick, Tozzi, you’re gonna be fucking sorry.”
“Please.” Stacy’s voice was small and pathetic. She was at the other end of the casket, less than ten feet away. But he couldn’t see her face very well. Her head was tipped back against Sal’s shoulder, pinned there by the gun.
“C’mon, Sal. Please. I’m begging you. Please. Take it and let her go.”
“Yeah. Break my fucking heart, Tozzi. You lie like a rug. You don’t love this girl.”
“I’m telling you, Sal, I do.”
“Yeah, sure. You don’t give a shit about her. You’re just trying to—”
“Salvatore!”
The shriek echoed through the church. Sal turned around fast, whipping Stacy around with him. Tozzi’s eyes shot open. His gut bottomed out, certain that Sal was gonna blow her head off. Then he saw who it was—Sister Cil standing in the aisle, a tight frown on her face, mad as a hornet.
“Salvatore, let go of that girl and get down on your knees this instant.”
“Get away, Cil.”
She stomped toward her brother, eyeglasses flashing thunderbolts. “Salvatore, get down on your knees and pray to God for forgiveness for all the lies you’ve told me.”
“Get away, Cil. I’m telling you now.”
Sal looked frantic. Tozzi started to move around the casket.
“Get back, Tozzi!” He dug the gun into Stacy’s neck. His face was dripping, his hand shaking.
Tozzi froze, pulse racing, fingers numb. Shit!
“Look at me, Salvatore. Look at me. You lied to me. For years you lied to me. You swore to me that you were innocent, that you never killed or stole or cheated, that other people tried to blame you for their sins and make you suffer their punishments. But that isn’t true, is it? You are what the papers say you are. You’re worse because you lied about it. Lied to your own family. Lied about not having any money when you knew how badly my girls and their babies needed things. Lied to me time and time again, and after all that I did for you.” Tears emerged from the bottom rims of the nun’s glasses. “You killed Mr. Mistretta, didn’t you? You killed Frank Bartolo. And Jerry. And Mr. Tate. Didn’t you? And you took advantage of Donald. And—”
“Shut up, Cil!” Sal pointed the gun in his sister’s face. “Shut up! Shut up!”
This was Tozzi’s chance. The gun wasn’t on Stacy. They were just eight feet away, the other side of the casket. He had to make his move right now!
But as he lunged for Sal’s outstretched arm, the lid of the casket suddenly flew open and scared the living shit out of him. The tape recorder flew into the air, sailing past the chandeliers and dropping into the crowd of mourners.
“Freeze, Immordino. FBI.”
Gibbons was inside the casket, sitting up in a bed of ivory satin, both hands on Excalibur, his trusty .38. It was leveled at Sal’s head.
Sister Cil screamed and staggered back in horror, her hand over her mouth. Screams and shouts rattled the organ pipes in the choir loft. Sal was shaking all over. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Tozzi held his chest. He knew how Sal felt. Fucking Gibbons.
Gibbons didn’t take his eyes off Sal. “Take
his gun, Tozzi. And don’t get funny, Immordino. You twitch the wrong way, and I’ll drop you where you stand.” Even the silence was scared of Gibbons.
Tozzi approached Sal with caution and put his hand on the gun, but Sal wasn’t letting go. Sal was staring at Gibbons, mesmerized, dumbfounded, but furious, breathing hard, his chest heaving.
Tozzi spoke softly. “Leggo, Sal. C’mon, leggo.” He twisted the gun back and Sal finally let him take it.
He did a quick check of the weapon, then stuck the muzzle in Sal’s neck. “Now, let her go.”
Sal didn’t respond. He still had Stacy’s arm pinned behind her back.
Tozzi stuck the gun right in his ear and racked the slide. Sal winced. “I said let her go.”
Sal dropped his arms to his side, and Stacy stumbled away from him, retreating into a pew.
Tozzi glanced at her. She sat down and curled up with her head in her lap. Tozzi sighed. Shit. She was gonna be a mess.
Gibbons hauled himself out of the casket and pulled out his handcuffs. Sal didn’t put up any resistance as Gibbons cuffed him. He was doing his dummy act again. The son of a bitch.
“C’mon, let’s go, Immordino.” Gibbons started to march Sal down the aisle toward the vestibule.
Tozzi noticed Madeleine Cummings on the other side of the casket then. She was holding his shirt and jacket. In the pew, Stacy was sobbing into her hands. He wondered what the hell he was gonna say to her now.
“Here,” Cummings said, handing him his clothes. “Go take care of Emerick. I’ll stay with Stacy.”
Tozzi looked at her and nodded. “Thanks,” he whispered. She understood what was going on.
But as Tozzi started putting on his shirt, a loud thud and a terrified yell echoed through the church. He wheeled around, braced the gun with both hands, and aimed down the aisle toward the vestibule.
A body was sprawled on the floor, covering the threshold between the church and the vestibule, blocking the way for Gibbons and Sal. Tozzi recognized the lifeless frog face on the chunky corpse in the black suit. It was Mistretta. A string of rosary beads was clamped into his waxy hands.
Sal was staring down at the corpse. He was white, in a cold sweat.
Sister Cil, who’d been holding herself up on the edge of a pew, wobbled, then fell backward and made her own thud as she fainted and crashed onto the wooden bench.
Gibbons turned around and glared at Tozzi. He was pissed. “I told this son of a bitch to stay put where I left him. You friggin’ guineas can never listen, can you?”
Tozzi just stared at him. He couldn’t believe this guy. “Jesus, Gib. This is a church, for chrissake. It’s the man’s funeral.”
Gibbons shrugged. “I had to put him somewhere.”
Wiseguys started moving toward the back of the church to see what was going on. Sal mumbled something to Gibbons, then stepped over Mistretta’s body.
Gibbons glanced back at Tozzi. He was smiling like a crocodile. “Later, Toz. Sal’s anxious to go.”
Chapter 24
“C’mon. Drink up, Toz. It’s your birthday.” Gibbons flashed a mean grin as he pressed the beer bottle to his lips.
Tozzi nodded and sipped from his bottle to make his partner happy, sneaking another look at the clock on Gilhooley’s back wall. It was almost nine-thirty. They’d been here an hour and a half, and they’d just done the cake-and-candles bit, but Stacy never showed. It was the only reason he’d agreed to this stupid birthday party idea. Lorraine and Madeleine Cummings were sitting together on the other side of the booth, satisfied with themselves. This was their deal.
Tozzi looked down at the slice of birthday cake on a paper plate in front on him. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Stacy after they arrested Sal Immordino at St. Anthony’s two days before, and she hadn’t returned any of his calls. He had to talk to her about what happened that morning, why he ran out the way he had, why he hadn’t gone to bed with her. God, he’d wanted her that morning, and he still did want her, but he didn’t think she really understood how urgent the situation with Immordino was.
Lorraine raised her eyebrows and examined his plate. “Michael, you’ve barely touched your cake. I thought chocolate was your favorite,” she said.
“Actually, it’s not chocolate.” Cummings was cutting herself a second sliver. “It’s carob sweetened with pear and white grape juice.”
Gibbons made a face and pushed his plate away. “I thought it tasted weird.”
Cummings ignored him. “Lorraine and I worked hard on this cake, Tozzi. The least you could do is try it.”
Tozzi glanced up at the front door. He thought he saw Stacy coming in, but it was someone else with hair sort of like hers.
“My God,” Cummings said, licking frosting off her fingers, “is this what happens when you turn forty? Snap out of it, Tozzi. You’re in a fog. If this is what I have to look forward to in three years, I’ll shoot myself first.”
“Want help?” Gibbons grinned behind his bottle.
Cummings flashed a saccharine smile.
“I’ll get around to the cake,” Tozzi said. “I’m just not hungry right now.” He sipped his beer and checked the clock again.
“Maybe we can send a piece to Sal Immordino,” Lorraine suggested. “He might appreciate it right now.”
Gibbons coughed up a sarcastic laugh. “Stick a file in it, why don’cha? He’ll give you a great big kiss when he gets out. If he gets out.” Gibbons sucked on his beer. “Hey, why don’t we all go over and see him? Bust his balls a little more. He’s right down the street at the Metropolitan Correctional Center. Whattaya think, Toz?”
Tozzi pictured the dark streets outside this place. He remembered the side street a block south of here where he was attacked and shot in the leg. He remembered being down on the ground after he’d been shot, seeing Stacy’s misty silhouette under the streetlight, hearing her scream.
Cummings brought another forkful of cake to her mouth. “I don’t think Sal Immordino deserves any of our cake. If the judge wouldn’t grant him bail, why should we give him cake?”
Gibbons snorted. “I suppose you’d rather drive down to Trenton and bring a piece to that lunatic, Emerick.”
Cummings’s eyes shot open. “Certainly not. That poor man has enough problems. He doesn’t need sugar shock to add to his woes.” She looked at Lorraine. “Emerick had to have been a hyperactive child. Sweets must’ve made him wild. They didn’t understand the effect sugar has on hyperactive kids back in those days.”
Gibbons narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said you didn’t use any sugar in this cake.”
Lorraine and Cummings both looked guilty. “Only in the frosting,” Lorraine admitted.
Tozzi tuned them out. He stared down at all the candles scattered on the table, the wicks burnt and black, the butt ends smeared with frosting. Forty candles. It had been like a goddamn forest fire when they brought it out. They didn’t have to have the exact number of candles. A couple would’ve been fine. He glanced up at the bar. Another long-haired blonde just came in, but it wasn’t Stacy. He picked up one of the half-melted candles and twirled it between his fingers.
“On second thought, maybe we should bring a piece to Immordino,” Gibbons said. “Could be his last piece of birthday cake ever. Word on the street is that Juicy Vacarini put out another contract on him, which is no big surprise. Sal’s not long for this world. They may not get him where he is now, but once he’s convicted and sent to a federal pen, somebody’ll get to him.”
Lorraine looked skeptical. “You mean another prisoner would do the hit? Does that happen?”
Gibbons sipped his beer and nodded. “All the time.”
Tozzi broke off a dried line of wax that had dripped from the candle. “Yeah, but Sal may not get convicted. Someone must’ve pocketed that tape recorder when it flew into the crowd. Sal’s doing his rope-a-dope routine again, and his public defender’s getting red in the face, yelling that his cli
ent’s not competent to stand trial. We still don’t have any hard evidence to prove that Sal’s not nuts, so basically we’re back where we started with him.”
Gibbons banged his bottle on the table. “What the hell’re you talking about? We’ve got your testimony. You heard him talking like a normal person. So did Stacy and Cummings. You’re the one who’s gonna put him away, Toz.”
“Without the tape, I’m not so sure our testimony alone will do it. Remember, Sal’s been declared incompetent by the court three times before this, so there’s a precedent. His lawyer will argue that taking Stacy hostage and waving a gun in church was all part of his craziness.”
“Yes, but what about Sister Cil?” Cummings said. “Given the way she feels about her brother, she may very well testify against him, especially if the prosecutor is willing to drop the charges against her in exchange for her cooperation.”
Gibbons shook his head. “What’s she up for? Aiding and abetting? You tell me what grand jury is gonna indict a nun. And if she’s not indicted, she has no reason to make any deals. Besides, Sister Cil believes in mercy and forgiveness. She’s not gonna put her own brother away, no matter what he did to her.”
Cummings pushed her glasses up her nose and speared another morsel of cake. “I’ll go talk to her. She wanted me to counsel her girls at the Mary Magdalene Home. I think she may trust me. I may be able to persuade her.”
Gibbons looked at her. “Yeah, right. And Ted Bundy was just a mixed-up kid.”
“Gibbons!” Lorraine was frowning.
Cummings shrugged and kept eating. “It’s all right, Lorraine. I’ve gotten used to his pointless sarcasm. It doesn’t bother me anymore.”
Gibbons snorted up a laugh. “Congratulations. You want a merit badge?”
Cummings set down her fork. “You’re going to miss me when I go back to Quantico, Gibbons.”
“And when exactly will that be, Doctor?”
“Next week. Didn’t I tell you? I was called back to fill in for someone.”
5 Bad Moon Page 27